Although I have been told that when I get flustered I start to lose it, I have never really paid any attention. That is of course since last night. One thing that stresses me above all else is maths. One of my friends came over to help me do some long winded awful project and I went in to loopy land. I made a cake for her but it turned out to be quite dry. This could be because I forgot to make up the icing. I managed to top myself with the coleslaw. When I opened the bag with the coleslaw the bag of dressing fell out. I of course did not get the hint to use it on the coleslaw but just put it to one side. That meant that the lovely big baked potato was served with beetroot, bacon, cheese and sour cream and of course coleslaw without dressing. Dry, dry, dry.
I am turning into one of my elderly neighbours. She was a lovely lady but she did the most amazing things. She often lost her purse but we usually found it somewhere in her unit. Her daughter often found things like blocks of cheese out on the back lawn. She also threw her new groceries out in the rubbish bin when they had just come from the shop. The dear thing did not like putting on cold knickers so she used to warm them up in the microwave. The reason I know this is because there was a large sign on her the microwave saying, "Don't put you knickers in here." What happens when you put your knickers in the microwave? Knickers tend to catch on fire.
My worst Agnes moment was when I was watering my lawn and looked over to her place where she had left the side gate open and noticed her hanging half out the laundry door. She was trying to hook something off the clothes line and I thought to myself, she wasn't wearing that this morning. Not only was she not wearing it but it also needed ironing. A split second later I realized she was naked. I have never moved so fast and positively flew inside. I had the most horrible thought that she might come over to talk to me, however, she must have come to her senses and the next time I looked the side gate was closed. I really hope she didn't see me.
Another Nanna moment was when my friend's Gran put her bra in the fridge and home made chocolate under the grill. My friend had the most entertaining stories of exactly what Gran had done. These stories sound amusing but when you get to my age they become frightening. If I am getting slightly ditzy now, then how am I going to be in another few years? I don't want to be walking around naked or boiling things dry, setting fire to my unit or flooding it. I don't want that but I guess it is the luck of the draw. Maybe my friends and the fruit of my loins will be regaling their friends with dotty Cushie stories. Funny for them but so very very sad for me.
Monday, 30 April 2012
Thursday, 26 April 2012
Karma
I do believe in Karma. This tale of Karma runs from when I was about four to when I met the father of the child of my loins. It started when I jammed my thumb in the big heavy front gate at the house where Mum was working. Over night she spend hours with me while I cried in pain. She wrapped up ice cubes in a cloth and held them around my thumb. In the morning, my whole nail was black and incredibly painful. It was decided to take me to the dentist. This does sound odd I suppose, but the dentist drilled a small hole in my nail to let the blood out. I remember crying and the dentist telling me it wouldn't hurt. He ran the side of the drill against my hand so I could see what it would be like. The blood was released and I felt better straight away. Months later the nail fell off and there was a lovely new nail waiting underneath.
Now ok I hear you say but where does karma come in to it. Well here it is. When I was working at Customs and Excise one of the girls slammed her finger in her Mum's car door. She came in to the lunch room crying so I took her across the road to the Casualty and they gave her something for the pain. She was so thankful that someone cared enough to help her. I of course knew how painful it could be and I just couldn't leave her in agony.
Soooooo a few years later I ran in to her in Rundle Street. I was waiting for the bus and there she was. She asked me what I was doing so I explained that I had separated from my husband and was doing a switchboard course in town. She was working at Naval Headquarters in Birkenhead at the time and they just so happened to need a new switchboard operater. She arranged an interview and I got the job.
The switchboard operater ordered the sailors lunches and their evening paper as well as doing the switch. One of the little sailors used to come in and talk to me every evening while he picked up his paper. I thought he was about eighteen but he was twenty and I was so much older I thought. I was twenty-four. I thought he was just coming in for a chat and didn't really notice him but he was persistent and finally we got together, married and I had the child of my loins.
So there you have it. If I hadn't slammed my thumb in the gate, then I wouldn't have helped the girl, and the girl wouldn't have helped me and I wouldn't have met the sailor, and we wouldn't have made a lovely baby. See it was Karma!
Now ok I hear you say but where does karma come in to it. Well here it is. When I was working at Customs and Excise one of the girls slammed her finger in her Mum's car door. She came in to the lunch room crying so I took her across the road to the Casualty and they gave her something for the pain. She was so thankful that someone cared enough to help her. I of course knew how painful it could be and I just couldn't leave her in agony.
Soooooo a few years later I ran in to her in Rundle Street. I was waiting for the bus and there she was. She asked me what I was doing so I explained that I had separated from my husband and was doing a switchboard course in town. She was working at Naval Headquarters in Birkenhead at the time and they just so happened to need a new switchboard operater. She arranged an interview and I got the job.
The switchboard operater ordered the sailors lunches and their evening paper as well as doing the switch. One of the little sailors used to come in and talk to me every evening while he picked up his paper. I thought he was about eighteen but he was twenty and I was so much older I thought. I was twenty-four. I thought he was just coming in for a chat and didn't really notice him but he was persistent and finally we got together, married and I had the child of my loins.
So there you have it. If I hadn't slammed my thumb in the gate, then I wouldn't have helped the girl, and the girl wouldn't have helped me and I wouldn't have met the sailor, and we wouldn't have made a lovely baby. See it was Karma!
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
When I was four
When Mum was working for the doctor his cocker spaniel called Susie had puppies. I was allowed to keep one, he was a lovely black and white puppy and we became the closest mates. I called him Bobby and we played all day and every day. I could do anything with him and while he might be dreadful to others he never hurt me. Unfortunately he used to jump over the fence and try to bite anyone riding past him on the their bikes. The post man was also his enemy. He attacked anyone who came in to buy their doctor's bills. While this may have been a problem for everyone else I was completely happy with him.
As I was not allowed in to the kitchen except for meals Bobby and I had lots of time to get up to mischief. One day I decided to go to Aunty Dossie's. She was the lady who came on Mondays to do the washing. She lived quite a distance away and over the railway line. between Woodville and Woodville North railway stations. I knew my way easily. Mum used to ask me which way to go on our way there as she had the worst sense of direction in the world. I was quite pleased with myself and thought that everyone would be happy to see me. Aunty Dossie and her sisters however were horrified. They couldn't believe that I had come all that way by myself and over the railway line. My only complaint was that Bobby did not look both ways at the railway crossing.
There was much running about, or flapping really. One of the sisters was dispatched to go and ring the doctor's from the phone box. No-one had missed me at home but were equally horrified at my escapade. I was completely happy both at my feat and that they gave me some cake and a drink of milk. I was soon popped into the cane child seat on the back of Laurel's bi-cycle with Bobby attached by a piece of old rope and taken back to the beginning of my journey.
No-one was happy with me. I could not understand it. I knew which way I was going plus I stopped at the railway crossing and looked for trains, plus I managed to keep control of Bobby without a lead. Not one person was impressed by the whole thing. Well of course I was and could not understand the furore going on around me. Really if they didn't want me to go anywhere I would have been told. Plus if I was sent outside to play for hours and got bored why shouldn't I go for a bit of a walk?
Not surprisingly there were lots of new rules to learn. No going for a walk and especially no crossing the railway line. I don't remember if I got a smack or in fact if I got punished in any way but knowing Mum as I did I suppose there was some type of retribution.
As Bobby's visciousness grew toward the general public and in particular the doctor's patients, he had to be put down. They wanted to tell me he had run away but Mum said if they did that I would go and look for him. It was the worst thing in my whole short life. I cried and cried and no-one could comfort me. He was my dog and my friend and I loved him completely and now he had been taken away from me. One would think that after sixty-two years I would grieve no more but I still do, and I still cry for him.
Although I have had lots of pets and have been extremely close to them, I have never been as close as I was to Bobby. Writing this has taken me back to my sorrow and I cry again. No-one has ever taken something from me that has engendered such grief. Perhaps there is something else that has hurt me as badly but I will get to that in another story.
So it is that I remember Bobby and I remember how happy we were together. He was a faithful friend and I miss him.
As I was not allowed in to the kitchen except for meals Bobby and I had lots of time to get up to mischief. One day I decided to go to Aunty Dossie's. She was the lady who came on Mondays to do the washing. She lived quite a distance away and over the railway line. between Woodville and Woodville North railway stations. I knew my way easily. Mum used to ask me which way to go on our way there as she had the worst sense of direction in the world. I was quite pleased with myself and thought that everyone would be happy to see me. Aunty Dossie and her sisters however were horrified. They couldn't believe that I had come all that way by myself and over the railway line. My only complaint was that Bobby did not look both ways at the railway crossing.
There was much running about, or flapping really. One of the sisters was dispatched to go and ring the doctor's from the phone box. No-one had missed me at home but were equally horrified at my escapade. I was completely happy both at my feat and that they gave me some cake and a drink of milk. I was soon popped into the cane child seat on the back of Laurel's bi-cycle with Bobby attached by a piece of old rope and taken back to the beginning of my journey.
No-one was happy with me. I could not understand it. I knew which way I was going plus I stopped at the railway crossing and looked for trains, plus I managed to keep control of Bobby without a lead. Not one person was impressed by the whole thing. Well of course I was and could not understand the furore going on around me. Really if they didn't want me to go anywhere I would have been told. Plus if I was sent outside to play for hours and got bored why shouldn't I go for a bit of a walk?
Not surprisingly there were lots of new rules to learn. No going for a walk and especially no crossing the railway line. I don't remember if I got a smack or in fact if I got punished in any way but knowing Mum as I did I suppose there was some type of retribution.
As Bobby's visciousness grew toward the general public and in particular the doctor's patients, he had to be put down. They wanted to tell me he had run away but Mum said if they did that I would go and look for him. It was the worst thing in my whole short life. I cried and cried and no-one could comfort me. He was my dog and my friend and I loved him completely and now he had been taken away from me. One would think that after sixty-two years I would grieve no more but I still do, and I still cry for him.
Although I have had lots of pets and have been extremely close to them, I have never been as close as I was to Bobby. Writing this has taken me back to my sorrow and I cry again. No-one has ever taken something from me that has engendered such grief. Perhaps there is something else that has hurt me as badly but I will get to that in another story.
So it is that I remember Bobby and I remember how happy we were together. He was a faithful friend and I miss him.
Friday, 20 April 2012
When I was three
When I was three I was fascinated by water. Mum who worked at the doctor's as a housekeeper rarely let me in to the kitchen. I loved the kitchen and above all I loved the kitchen sink. I was too little to reach the tap but I always made a valiant effort to drag a kitchen chair over and then clamber up. Mum was always one step ahead of me and so when I had managed to reach the sink she turned off the tap. It would have been my idea of heaven to get to play with the water. I always seemed to have a cup or saucepan to catch it but never the water to fill said article.
Since I was almost always barred from the kitchen I made use of the taps outside to fulfill my needs. I used to drink out of the garden taps and Mum always told me not to. Of course I never listened to her but one day I turned on the tap and spider washed out. Mum of course was there to say, "I told you." However, the best bit of the taps was that I could get my beloved water, unless of course my unfeeling Mother hadn't turned all the taps off so hard I couldn't turn them on again. Aunty Mary, the doctor's sister, used to lovingly water her seedlings with the hose and unlike Mum she didn't tighten the tap. I had a lovely time watering them and washing them out of the ground.
Sometimes if I was really good Mum would give me an enamel bowl filled with water so I could use it to make mud pies or to make tea in my tea set and then wash all the little cups and saucers and the tea pot and milk jug. To think that a little bowl of water and a metal tea set could amuse me for hours at a time. I didn't have to be entertained, I had my imagination and a few bits and pieces and would stay outside until Mum called me in for tea.
I was also fascinated with the little pond covered in chicken wire. It had beautiful big gold fish in it and I loved to watch them swimming through the green grasses and around and under the rocks. I don't really know if the wire was there to protect me from falling into the pond or me from interfering with the fish. I imagine that if the chicken wire had not been there I would have wanted to 'help' the fish swim into my little bowl of water.
In the hot weather I was allowed to play under the sprinkler. I used to stay under the water so long that my lips turned blue and my fingers wrinkled. Playing under the sprinkler is a favourite memory. Even though I am a bit long in the tooth I still remember the absolute joy that water gave me on those long hot days of South Australian summer.
Since I was almost always barred from the kitchen I made use of the taps outside to fulfill my needs. I used to drink out of the garden taps and Mum always told me not to. Of course I never listened to her but one day I turned on the tap and spider washed out. Mum of course was there to say, "I told you." However, the best bit of the taps was that I could get my beloved water, unless of course my unfeeling Mother hadn't turned all the taps off so hard I couldn't turn them on again. Aunty Mary, the doctor's sister, used to lovingly water her seedlings with the hose and unlike Mum she didn't tighten the tap. I had a lovely time watering them and washing them out of the ground.
Sometimes if I was really good Mum would give me an enamel bowl filled with water so I could use it to make mud pies or to make tea in my tea set and then wash all the little cups and saucers and the tea pot and milk jug. To think that a little bowl of water and a metal tea set could amuse me for hours at a time. I didn't have to be entertained, I had my imagination and a few bits and pieces and would stay outside until Mum called me in for tea.
I was also fascinated with the little pond covered in chicken wire. It had beautiful big gold fish in it and I loved to watch them swimming through the green grasses and around and under the rocks. I don't really know if the wire was there to protect me from falling into the pond or me from interfering with the fish. I imagine that if the chicken wire had not been there I would have wanted to 'help' the fish swim into my little bowl of water.
In the hot weather I was allowed to play under the sprinkler. I used to stay under the water so long that my lips turned blue and my fingers wrinkled. Playing under the sprinkler is a favourite memory. Even though I am a bit long in the tooth I still remember the absolute joy that water gave me on those long hot days of South Australian summer.
Tuesday, 17 April 2012
Root canal 2
My temporary filling was temporary to say the least. I returned to the dentist where he drilled out the manky filling and filled it all over again. Luckily, because the nerve is dead I didn't have to have a needle. That is a definite plus.
While I was waiting I got to hear a little kid crying as my dentist tortured the poor thing. His Mum kept getting up and going in to the surgery and being shooed out again. It did not make my waiting very pleasant. It was infinitely less pleasant for the kid though.
The dentist has a strong accent so it is often hard to understand what he is saying. The dental nurse told me what he wanted, which for some reason was to keep my mouth open. Who would have thought that mouth opening is so important.
I have some weeks left before I have to get the second part of my root canal finished. I am pleased that I didn't have to have the silly tooth out, however, any visit to the dentist is bound to be unpleasant in some way shape or form.
While I was waiting I got to hear a little kid crying as my dentist tortured the poor thing. His Mum kept getting up and going in to the surgery and being shooed out again. It did not make my waiting very pleasant. It was infinitely less pleasant for the kid though.
The dentist has a strong accent so it is often hard to understand what he is saying. The dental nurse told me what he wanted, which for some reason was to keep my mouth open. Who would have thought that mouth opening is so important.
I have some weeks left before I have to get the second part of my root canal finished. I am pleased that I didn't have to have the silly tooth out, however, any visit to the dentist is bound to be unpleasant in some way shape or form.
Monday, 16 April 2012
Tattoos
'When I was a girl' you only saw tattoos on sailors and women who were not ladies. I know that was a long time ago but that is how it was. Nowadays, everyone one seems to support one tattoo or more. Some tatts are beautiful. I saw one that was a circle of tiny blue elephants each holding the other tail in their trunk. The young lady had it around her belly button. It was a modest tatt and easily covered up. The other was a wrist band of beautiful butterflies. This tatt was a work of art and I must admit I was jealous. My idea of a perfect tatt would be a kitten curled half way around my belly button. Of course it would be impossible now as the tattooist would have to use bulldog clips to get a flat enough surface to ink. Plus the kitten would have to be a litter of kittens and even then it would be too little to go around my stretched old belly button.
I am still too old-fashioned to like the sight of huge tatts on the bride's arms, boobs or back. However, I support a person's right to decorate their body in any way shape or form that they like. I used to like to go to parties when one or more young sailors revealed their naughty tatts on areas not usually seen except by themselves or by their lady loves. I am still mad that one of my friends always seemed to reach that drunken state after I left the party. I have known him for about forty years and have yet to see the mysterious cartoon.
I expect in the future that tattoos will go out of fashion and virgin skin will be the in thing. Tatts will be old fashioned and the wearers classified as old inked farts. The other thing is that as people age so does their skin. It stretches and wrinkles and in time a perfectly nice tatt assumes a rather odd appearance. The butterfly on the breast may fly halfway down to the waist. The flower tatts may lose their petals and sag so it appears they need watering.
I have a hint for those in love. Do NOT get your love's name tattooed on your body. Tatts last forever and loves may not. Also if the child of your loins wants a tattoo make them wear the same top twenty-four hours a day for a month and then ask them if they still want the tatt. If they do, then they are committed and should be allowed to adorn their body with what-so-ever they want.
To tatt or not to tatt that is the question!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am still too old-fashioned to like the sight of huge tatts on the bride's arms, boobs or back. However, I support a person's right to decorate their body in any way shape or form that they like. I used to like to go to parties when one or more young sailors revealed their naughty tatts on areas not usually seen except by themselves or by their lady loves. I am still mad that one of my friends always seemed to reach that drunken state after I left the party. I have known him for about forty years and have yet to see the mysterious cartoon.
I expect in the future that tattoos will go out of fashion and virgin skin will be the in thing. Tatts will be old fashioned and the wearers classified as old inked farts. The other thing is that as people age so does their skin. It stretches and wrinkles and in time a perfectly nice tatt assumes a rather odd appearance. The butterfly on the breast may fly halfway down to the waist. The flower tatts may lose their petals and sag so it appears they need watering.
I have a hint for those in love. Do NOT get your love's name tattooed on your body. Tatts last forever and loves may not. Also if the child of your loins wants a tattoo make them wear the same top twenty-four hours a day for a month and then ask them if they still want the tatt. If they do, then they are committed and should be allowed to adorn their body with what-so-ever they want.
To tatt or not to tatt that is the question!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, 13 April 2012
Regrets
I seem to be in a state of melancholia at the moment. My rosy picture of myself that I have created over many years is rent asunder. If only I could turn back the years, if only I could take back one hundreth of my stupidity and mistakes; yes that is it, if only! I have sailed along year after year enclosed in a wall of supreme ignorance bolstered with hubris. If only, I had not said this, or done that. If only I had made better choices or had been more aware of how things worked. Well in the end, what if I had not been me? Even now, when I am not so ignorant, not so temperamental, in fact now that I am mellow I would give anything to re-tread the paths that I have taken and perhaps not make the same stupid un-informed decisions that have made throughout my life.
Regret does not cure mistakes, it does not stop memories. However, perhaps it teaches us, no matter how late, the best way to live life. It might prevent future mistakes and let one live in the now. What is done is done, and that one should live each new day as a new beginning and that nightmares of long ago should cease to wound us.
"The moving finger writes
And having writ moves on
Nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears
Wash out a word of it."
Omar Khayyam
Regret does not cure mistakes, it does not stop memories. However, perhaps it teaches us, no matter how late, the best way to live life. It might prevent future mistakes and let one live in the now. What is done is done, and that one should live each new day as a new beginning and that nightmares of long ago should cease to wound us.
"The moving finger writes
And having writ moves on
Nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears
Wash out a word of it."
Omar Khayyam
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
Root canal
Yesterday I had the first round of my tooth canal. The dentist is fantastic. He made sure my gums were numb and so the only bit of the needle that hurt was the inside on the upper gum. The nurse held my hand and I felt much better for it. The dentist spent a lot of time putting a little rubbery sheet in my mouth that only left the crappy tooth exposed. That way I was not choking on water and bits of tooth debris. It did seem that he was drilling to China though. So instead of being the worst dental experience of my life it was the best. The only really uncomfortable thing was that I had to keep my mouth wide open. Plus I couldn't breathe very well as the side of my nose swelled up and as only one nostril worked I was huffing and puffing. My nose was broken years ago so I don't have lots of room to breathe on the right hand side. Still I didn't suffocate and in the greater scheme of things this was a positive experience. I don't have to go again for a month and then the silly thing will be fixed. Scared of the dentist, who me? Nah!
Monday, 9 April 2012
Revered elder
Ok now I am getting really annoyed. Here I am the most serious of people and I have been relegated to the coo-kie or cool category. I was aiming for the revered elder. When I was a girl and Bob Menzies was the Prime Minister he was revered, at least by the Liberals. He was older, had white hair and enormous bushy eyebrows and sort of announced rather than talked. Well, I am older, have salt and pepper hair and the beginnings of bushy eyebrows, could I not then aim for the respected pre-senile person slot. Admittedly, I do not announce but just chatter away so this may be the reason that I am not taken seriously.
It is infuriating that when I talk sensibly, people fall about laughing at me. People I am serious. Stop laughing. No really stop laughing. No, roaring with laughter is not acceptable. Aaarrrgh, I give up. I will go and talk to the dog. He is deaf so he cannot possibly find anything I say humorous. Really the cat is the best one to talk to because she ignores anything anyone says.
Seriously, I am going!!!!!
It is infuriating that when I talk sensibly, people fall about laughing at me. People I am serious. Stop laughing. No really stop laughing. No, roaring with laughter is not acceptable. Aaarrrgh, I give up. I will go and talk to the dog. He is deaf so he cannot possibly find anything I say humorous. Really the cat is the best one to talk to because she ignores anything anyone says.
Seriously, I am going!!!!!
Dying silk
Today being a holiday I decided to dye some scarves. I used different techniques. One that my teacher called fortuny is tie dying. This is a method that needs another person to help. After painting large blocks of colour onto the silk you hang them on the line and wait for them to dry. It is also a good thing to use some paper towel to keep the line clean otherwise when you hang the washing out it picks up any dye left on the line. You need to throw out the used pegs as well. Once all the silk is dry pleat the ends and then with (your very favourite person in the world) to help twist the silk into a cord. Wrap the cord around some plactic tubing with ridges and holes and secure with wool. Boil the silk for about 30-45 minutes. When the silk is wrapped around the tubing it is just large blocks of colour but when you unwrap it, it is like an amazing jewel. You never know exactly how the scarf will turn out. It is a magical experience and has to be seen to be believed.
The other technique I used was to paint spashes of colour all over the silk and then sprinkle it with either rock salt or epsom salts. I prefer to use epsom salts as I believe that it draws the colours better. I used to wait until the silk was completely dry before I hung it out to dry. Today though I moved the silk while it was still damp and found that the epsom salts came off more easily. You cannot steam the silk unless there is no salt on it. Once the silk is dry wrap it between sheets of butcher's paper. Fold up into little parcels and then steam. I usually steam the silk for about 45 minutes. If the steaming is not done correctly the silk might get damp and the colour leaches out. I think the only way to do this is to learn by trial and error. My steamer is a huge spaghetti cooker and works really well.
I had a couple of small pieces of silk left over so I rolled them up and tucked one end in yellow dye and the other end in orange. The other one I did in green and yellow. I had a little bit of red and navy dye left over so I poured them onto the table and just wiped up the colours with my last little piece of silk. I threw some salt on it and the colour pulled beautifully. It turned out to be a purple/mauve colour and looks spectacular.
I love silk scarves and get so attached to them that I really don't want to part with them. This sort of negates the whole idea of making money by producing a craft item really.
Producing these scarves is a long drawn out process plus it is quite expensive. The silk is approximately $80 for a dozen scarves. Last time I bought the dyes they were about $12 a bottle, but the price has probably increased since I last bought any. There is special washing liquid and conditioning liquid but I have run out so used shampoo and vinegar. As you can see by these prices plus the work involved the scarves should be over $50. However, as we all know, no-one wants to spend money. If I could sell things at a fancy giftware store I could get a better price but I only have local markets and so cannot expect to sell anything over about $25.
Next time you see scarves at a market for what seems to be an inflated price you will understand where the seller is coming from. Good luck to them if they can sell a couple.
If you take up this craft you will enjoy it immensely. I love it. Give it a try. There are plenty of silk dying books around the place. Go on have a go.
The other technique I used was to paint spashes of colour all over the silk and then sprinkle it with either rock salt or epsom salts. I prefer to use epsom salts as I believe that it draws the colours better. I used to wait until the silk was completely dry before I hung it out to dry. Today though I moved the silk while it was still damp and found that the epsom salts came off more easily. You cannot steam the silk unless there is no salt on it. Once the silk is dry wrap it between sheets of butcher's paper. Fold up into little parcels and then steam. I usually steam the silk for about 45 minutes. If the steaming is not done correctly the silk might get damp and the colour leaches out. I think the only way to do this is to learn by trial and error. My steamer is a huge spaghetti cooker and works really well.
I had a couple of small pieces of silk left over so I rolled them up and tucked one end in yellow dye and the other end in orange. The other one I did in green and yellow. I had a little bit of red and navy dye left over so I poured them onto the table and just wiped up the colours with my last little piece of silk. I threw some salt on it and the colour pulled beautifully. It turned out to be a purple/mauve colour and looks spectacular.
I love silk scarves and get so attached to them that I really don't want to part with them. This sort of negates the whole idea of making money by producing a craft item really.
Producing these scarves is a long drawn out process plus it is quite expensive. The silk is approximately $80 for a dozen scarves. Last time I bought the dyes they were about $12 a bottle, but the price has probably increased since I last bought any. There is special washing liquid and conditioning liquid but I have run out so used shampoo and vinegar. As you can see by these prices plus the work involved the scarves should be over $50. However, as we all know, no-one wants to spend money. If I could sell things at a fancy giftware store I could get a better price but I only have local markets and so cannot expect to sell anything over about $25.
Next time you see scarves at a market for what seems to be an inflated price you will understand where the seller is coming from. Good luck to them if they can sell a couple.
If you take up this craft you will enjoy it immensely. I love it. Give it a try. There are plenty of silk dying books around the place. Go on have a go.
Sunday, 8 April 2012
Bed
I am so in love with my new bed. This is the softess bed and totally different to any of the beds I have ever had. I had a twenty per cent off card from Spotlight so I bought the most beautiful quilt cover. It is a smokey lilac with lots of embroidery and quilting on it. The material feels like silk and is luxurious. For my birthday the fruit of my loins put one hundred dollars in my bank account, so I lashed out and bought a quilted valance, mattress protector, fitted sheet and quilt plus two extra pillow cases. It is almost too beautiful to sleep in. That cat has decided that the quilted valance is her new scratching post. I have news for her. I love my new bed and have to force myself to stay out of it during the daytime. Mmmmmmm new bed, I feel a nap coming on. Love the bed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Good Friday
I love Easter. Not so much for the eggs and hot cross buns, well I lie, they are some of the best parts of Easter. However, I love Easter Thursday Mass. It is the best and loveliest Mass of the whole year. The Saturday Mass is great but seems to go for hours, maybe because it does go on for hours. After Mass on Saturday I get to eat or sorts of things that I had given up over Lent. One year I gave up cake and biscuits so couldn't even have a cake for my birthday. Now I tend to give up stuff that I wouldn't eat anyway. I would try to give up swearing but I am afraid that I would have broken that little promise in the first half hour. I think perhaps giving up making the bed or giving up doing the dishes would be easier. Actually, you are not supposed to boast about what you are giving up. Evidently God wouldn't like it. Personally I am sure that He has much more to do than check out what you have or have not offered up.
Every Easter the good Catholics go to confession and the bad Catholics like me either stay away or pretend they have been and still go up to take Communion. Now that is another thing that the good Lord probably doesn't give a toss about. Sometimes I am in Melbourne for Easter and go to St. Francis Church in Elizabeth Street. They don't know if you have confessed about any wrong doings during the time since last confession so I happily go up without so much as a guilty conscience. The trouble for me is that I never really think I have anything to confess. Hence the reason I am a bad Catholic. I just cannot conceive that telling a Priest that you have lusted after Sean Connery or perhaps failed giving up stuff for Lent is all that interesting. I have certainly not killed or maimed anyone. So what can I say to the poor man who must be bored to death. Perhaps I could liven thing up telling him that I have stolen the silver from my old Grandmother's trouseau or cheated a poor pensioner of some of their pension money. How many Hail Mary's would I get for a bit of lusting; who knows? I certainly don't because I wouldn't tell the dear man if I lusted or not.
Some years my birthday is actually at Easter. When I was 9, my birthday was on Good Friday so I didn't know whether to be happy it was my birthday or sad because Jesus was dead. I was torn. The other thing about birthdays at Easter is that you get Easter eggs for a present. It is like birthdays at Christmas. One big present instead of two. Talk about being ripped off.
So here we are back where we started, I love Easter and always have plans of exactly what I will do, however, I rarely achieve anything because of my inherent laziness. I guess I will just pick up my book and have a nice quiet read, have fish for tea and feel quite virtuous. Amen.
Every Easter the good Catholics go to confession and the bad Catholics like me either stay away or pretend they have been and still go up to take Communion. Now that is another thing that the good Lord probably doesn't give a toss about. Sometimes I am in Melbourne for Easter and go to St. Francis Church in Elizabeth Street. They don't know if you have confessed about any wrong doings during the time since last confession so I happily go up without so much as a guilty conscience. The trouble for me is that I never really think I have anything to confess. Hence the reason I am a bad Catholic. I just cannot conceive that telling a Priest that you have lusted after Sean Connery or perhaps failed giving up stuff for Lent is all that interesting. I have certainly not killed or maimed anyone. So what can I say to the poor man who must be bored to death. Perhaps I could liven thing up telling him that I have stolen the silver from my old Grandmother's trouseau or cheated a poor pensioner of some of their pension money. How many Hail Mary's would I get for a bit of lusting; who knows? I certainly don't because I wouldn't tell the dear man if I lusted or not.
Some years my birthday is actually at Easter. When I was 9, my birthday was on Good Friday so I didn't know whether to be happy it was my birthday or sad because Jesus was dead. I was torn. The other thing about birthdays at Easter is that you get Easter eggs for a present. It is like birthdays at Christmas. One big present instead of two. Talk about being ripped off.
So here we are back where we started, I love Easter and always have plans of exactly what I will do, however, I rarely achieve anything because of my inherent laziness. I guess I will just pick up my book and have a nice quiet read, have fish for tea and feel quite virtuous. Amen.
Maths a miracle
Even though I am terminally useless doing maths I managed to just pass the latest test. I actually got some of the problems right but made really silly mistakes on some of them. Never mind, as they say a change is as good as a holiday. Well that is really not what they say but passing a numeracy test is as good as it gets. I live in hope that the final test is passable.
Actually one of the guys who received great marks in the first test only got 8% more than me for this one. I am nearly a genius!!!!!!!!!!!!
Actually one of the guys who received great marks in the first test only got 8% more than me for this one. I am nearly a genius!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Radio head
Yes it is true I do have a good head for radio. For those of you who are a little confused as to what this actually means, it means that I am awfully ugly and look like a huge flying toad. A toad because of my nose and flying because my ear lobes are growing faster than anything else on my body, so I look sort like Dumbo. There is also a hump growing out of the back of my neck. I have a huge spare tyre and an enormous beer belly, except I don't drink beer. I guess you are getting the picture. Thus folks I am perfect for radio. On TV I could be used to frighten little children or scare people in to auditioning for the Biggest Loser. Don't even bother to try to re-assure me, "Oh you look fine, don't be down on yourself." I am not down on myself, I am a realist. If I had a choice between changing my face and body or staying the same, the answer would of course be that I want to look like Judi Dench. No, the radio is the place for me and I embrace its anonymity.
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Disgruntled
Ok, now I know I had a bit of a fit about whelmed, as in over-whelmed. I said then that I do not go around saying, "I am really whelmed today." Today I have set my sights on disgruntled. Do we ever say, "I am gruntled today." Today I had a really good day and I really did feel gruntled. I like it, yep gruntled, thats me.
Monday, 2 April 2012
Twenty-first
I wrote this for my daughter Kel's twenty-first and had it printed and framed. She is a very special person and I love her dearly.
Kel
When you were small I carried you
As you grew you toddled then walked
Your steps grew surer
Over the years I led
And you ably followed
If the road was hard
I turned and helped you
Now I turn but you are no longer there
I look ahead and you are before me
Your steps are confident
I gaze after you uncertainly
But you pause
You turn and smile
And beckon me on
The road rises up before you
You turn to challenge it
6th September 1994
Kel
When you were small I carried you
As you grew you toddled then walked
Your steps grew surer
Over the years I led
And you ably followed
If the road was hard
I turned and helped you
Now I turn but you are no longer there
I look ahead and you are before me
Your steps are confident
I gaze after you uncertainly
But you pause
You turn and smile
And beckon me on
The road rises up before you
You turn to challenge it
6th September 1994
Tears
I was rather depressed when I wrote this. I was sitting on the train and outside it was raining. I wrote the poem in my head and luckily I managed to drag it out again.
It is crying outside my room
Tears falling soaking the earth
I am a reservoir an ocean of tears
But my cheeks are dry
I envy the sky
Sobbing down my window
It is crying outside my room
Tears falling soaking the earth
I am a reservoir an ocean of tears
But my cheeks are dry
I envy the sky
Sobbing down my window
Sunday, 1 April 2012
Freddie
I called my Mum Freddie from when I was about sixteen. So it is Freddie's birthday tomorrow. If she still lived she would be 107. Of course if she had lived I would be immured in a psychiatric hospital. Still as I get older I realize that holding a grudge about a person who died twenty-seven years ago is perhaps taking things a little too far. I am like the traditional elephant who forgets nothing, so I really need to let go. I read somewhere that the reason parents can push all our buttons is because they installed them. How apropos! One must always ask oneself were our parents trained psychologists or teachers. Did they mean to curse our lives by just being their own flawed selves. The answer is no. Mum did not set out to be negative, she thought she was doing the right thing. If we were to live in other people's homes, (where she worked), I had to learn to be quiet and do exactly as I was told. I had to learn that children could not have everything because we all have to learn at some stage or another that life is not always fair. I learned all my lessons exceedingly well so I am now unlearning all the things that are not useful to me today. Tomorrow on Freddie's birthday I am going to do absolutely everything that she would have hated and enjoy the hell out of it. Happy birthday Freddie, you old bat.
I do have a rather risque verse that I read somewhere, I will however, have to leave out the swear word:-
They .... you up your mum and dad
They may not mean to but they do
They give all the faults they had
And then some extra just for you.
I do have a rather risque verse that I read somewhere, I will however, have to leave out the swear word:-
They .... you up your mum and dad
They may not mean to but they do
They give all the faults they had
And then some extra just for you.
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